Army Ranger Pearson Reid Brantley

In America Veterans Day honors military veterans. It is both a state and a national holiday, usually observed on 11th Day in the 11th Mount to also celebrate Armistice Day and the signing of Armistice with Germany at the ending of World WarI at the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918.

For me all that I've been able to think of these during recent days is our thirteen fallen dead at Fort Hood this week. Watching the diplay of the "battlefield crosses" on display at the memorial service yesterday hurt my heart. I do not believe I will ever forget that image: the boots, the helment the gun forming a cross situated next to a photo of each man and woman who died in the shooting.

All I've been thinking of, I've said all day, "All I've been able to think of" is my own beloved twenty-five year old grandson Army Ranger, Pearson Reid Branltey who will deploy in the spring.

Today l celebrate Pearson's life and all day I will be celebratng most of all that I know he is alive and well and looking very happy shown here in this recent photo with his sister Amanda and his true love Becky.

The Mole on the Pavement

"The Mole on the Pavement" a poem

by Nancy Simpson

THE MOLE ON THE PAVEMENT

by Nancy Simpson

We thought you loved the dark,

thought you had a good life

in your underground world,

but we learned different

early this morning

finding you frozen,

your thick hands held out.

We had nothing to give you

so we pretended piety

and walked away rationalizing:

He thought he could dig through asphalt.

He forgot mornings are cold here.

He wanted to live on the other side.

Weather Report Above the Frost Line 11-5-09

I checked the predicted low for tonight, and a tear slid down my cheek. 29 degrees they say.

It could be the last night for my flowers, here above the frost line.

So far all fall I woke every morning to bright colored leaves and flowers blooming. I've had many rose bushes, some nashturtiums, a few butterfly bushes, cleome, chrysanthesums and my star for Ocober and November - the Confederate Rose.

Sometimes the freeze stays away until after Thanksgiving. I dread this night - if it is the night of the hard freeze.

Bio - Poet Heather McHugh

Congratulations Heather

Heather McHugh was born in California in 1948 and raised in rural Virginia. She entered Harvard University at the age of 16, where she took a seminar with Robert Lowell and had her first poem published in The New Yorker. “My whole work is to catch the word by surprise, sneaking up on language, sneaking up on the world as it lurks in words,” McHugh said. “I love the recesses of reason. That’s a great place to set my mind at rest.”

Exuding a love of language, wit, and observation, McHugh creates poems that are profoundly intelligent. Through the use of puns, rhymes, and syntactical twists, her work is an ongoing inquiry into the ways language can aid and impede participation in life. “I write because I want to find out what was bothering me . . . I’m not sure what it is that wants to be said, but I’m there to be its scribe,” says McHugh. “Almost always I’ve seen some pattern. Then comes a rocking and a humming. I find language to document that play of patterns in the world.”

In her book The Father of the Predicaments (1999), McHugh takes her cue from Aristotle, who wrote that “the father of the predicaments is being.” The book opens with a long poem about a loved-one dying and the limits of speech: “What did she mean? All I can call upon/is words—unsatisfactory to say/the least—a nomen always aiming/for amen, a pupil meaning/well, pre-emptively.”

McHugh’s honors include two grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Griffin Poetry Prize, and a Guggenheim Foundation fellowship. In 1999 she was elected a Chancellor of The Academy of American Poets. McHugh is Milliman Distinguished Writer-in-Residence at the University of Washington in Seattle. She frequently teaches as Visiting Professor at the Writers' Workshop in Iowa and has held chairs at the University of California at Berkeley, the University of Alabama, and the University of Cincinnati.


Selected Works
Dangers (1977)
A World of Difference (1981)
To the Quick (1987)
Shades (1988)
Hinge & Sign: Poems 1968-1993 (1994)
Broken English: Poetry and Partiality, essays (1993)
The Father of the Predicaments (1999)
Glottal Stop: 101 Poems of Paul Celan, translation with Nikolai Popov (2000)
Cyclops, Euripides, translation (2000)

Poet Heather McHugh Wins Mac Arthur Fellowship

Heather McHugh Wins MacArthur Fellowship

reported by DEBORAH

on OCTOBER 1, 2009

Thanks to the blogpoesy galore for the tip.

Nancy Simpson says: Hello Followers. Heather McHugh was the poetry professor I worked with in the Warren Wilson M.F.A. Writing Program.

Congratulations to Heather McHugh for receiving the $500,000. Mac Arthur Fellowship Award. Read more.

Thanks to the blogpoesy galorefor this news. Blogpoesy

reports:

"I’m delighted to learn that Heather McHugh, published in 32 Poems, won aMacArthur (aka genius grant) fellowship. The poem we published by McHugh is entitled “Ill-Made Almighty” and was republished in Best American Poetry. I’ve been reading her since a mentor during my college years lent her book to me, and it’s a thrill to have published her and to see her win this life-changing award of $500,000."

From the press release:

This past week, the recipients learned by a phone call out of the blue from the Foundation that they will each receive $500,000 in “no strings attached” support over the next five years. MacArthur Fellowships come without stipulations and reporting requirements and offer Fellows unprecedented freedom and opportunity to reflect, create, and explore. The unusual level of independence afforded to Fellows underscores the spirit of freedom intrinsic to creative endeavors. The work of MacArthur Fellows knows neither boundaries nor the constraints of age, place, and endeavor.

NOVEMBER 1, 2009 NO FROST, NO HARD FREEZE HERE ABOVE THE FROST LINE

GLORIOSA DAISY

FULL MOON IN TARUS ON NOVEMBER 2, 2009

Two Poems by Glenda Council Beall, Poet of the Month for October 2009

It has been a pleasure to celebrate the poems of Glend Council Beall this month on this site -

LIVING ABOVE THE FROST LINE.

The big news is that her poetry chapbook NOW MUGHT AS WELL BE THEN has been published. If you have ordered a copy, it will arrive this week.

The sensuous words of Glenda Beall’s poems carry the reader into unforgettable landscapes: the richly textured scenes of the rural south and those of the human spirit with its joys, challenges, and yes, its music.

Janice Townley Moore, author of Teaching the Robins, and winner of the Press 53 Poetry Award for 2009

TWO NEW POEMS BY GLENDA COUNCIL BEALL

Ballet in the Piney Woods

Little girl sunsuits littered the wiregrass.

Summer warmed small bronze bodies

that danced on the stage of a fallen oak,

to songbirds’ music from the mayhaw.

They felt, at five, the kiss of butterflies

upon their eyes, breathed honeysuckle air.

Like sylphs set free they twirled, arms open,

gathering the breeze against their bareness.

Chastised for their boldness by older girls

who barged into their glade,

the innocents saw themselves

and were ashamed.

Lift Your Glass

From the vineyard,

she burst forth

with a hint of blush,

a touch of dew

upon her cheek.

Battered by winds, rain and time,

rooted deep, she toughens

to a satiny sheen.

Finally, crushed by adversity

she emerges, life's

finest nectar.

Drink a toast to woman.

Previously published in Red Owl Magazine, 1999)

Here is more Glenda Counci Beall pubishing information.

Poems:

"Big Sur" - Storyteller magazine 1996

"Snow Dreams" - Georgia Journal, 1998

"Mountain Seagull" - Journal of Kentucky Studies - 1998

"Inundated" - Journal of Kentucky Studies - 1998

"My Father's Horse" - Main Street Rag, 2001

"The Peach Tree" - Appalachian Heritage Summer Issue 2002

"Tomato Man" - Lights in the Mountains

"Scene from Yellowstone's Valiant Wild" - Kakalak, 2009

November Trees - Living with Loss, Winter issue, 2009

Womanhood"- Red Owl Magazine - 1999 (file titled Life Your Glass)

"Drought" - Lucidity, 1999

"Open Window" - Writer's Cramp 1997

"A Photograph of My Brothers and Me" - Journal of Kentucky Studies 2004

"Ballet in the Piney Woods" - Freckles to Wrinkles, Silver Boomer Books anthology

Essays published in:

"Forks in the Road" Anthology by Riemann publishing

"Mother's Reunion" - Reunion Magazine

"An Angel Named Amos" - Cup of Comfort for Horse Lovers

Fiction:

"Confrontation", short story published in Muscadine Lines; A Southern Journal

Glenda Council Beall had a poem accepted for Living With Loss Magazine. "November Trees" will come out in the Winter Issue for 2009.

Poet Nancy Simpson Celebrates the First Anniversary of This Site LIVING ABOVE THE FROST LINE

One year ago, I attended a Saturday How to Blog Workshop sponsored by NC Wrirters Network West. The next day, on Sunday, October 26th, 2008, I made my first post with pictures. I made up my mind early at the workshop that my site would focus on southern and Appalachian writers, that I would aim to celebrate the work of one poet each month and would add good poems when I could get them even if there was already a featured poet. A few times, I resorted to reprinting a few of my own poems, but that is not my goal.

For sure, when the poems are posted, that is when the visitors swarm in from around the world. I check my sitemeter, and although I do not know who my readers are, I know where they are coming from. I know the page they entered on so can make a good guess it is poetry they want. It is exciting to know there are folks in the world who love to read poetry and search for it. Thousands have searched for poems by Physician Poet John Stone, poems by former Georgia Poet Laureate Bettie M. Sellers, poems by Appalachian Poet Ruth Faulkner Grubbs, and others. A young Mississippi poet named Particia Neely Dorsey became a follower, and I featured her poems. This month, the featured poet is Glenda Council Beall, author of the newly published poetry collection NOW MIGHT AS WELL BE THEN. Lots of readers come looking. On one day alone, twelve people searched and found poet Clarence Lee Newton and his poems on my site. People also come looking for colored leaves changing across the Blue Ridge and for flowers growing on the northside of an appalacian mountain. It seems they come looking for anything Appalachian.

If you are a practicing poet or if you are interested in poetry, visit often and leave a comment.

Original welcome: Celebrating One Year Above the Frost Line.

Welcome to my new blog. Living Above the Frost Line is a dwelling place for practicing free verse poets. Above the frost line, we give ourselves some extra growing time. I am still here, still practicing poetry, still studying, publishing, still teaching and still learning how to live. Yes, I know, the hard freeze will come, but until it arrives, I shall grow and share my poems.

• 
  

The Nantahala National Forest in the Western North Carolina Mountains

APPROACHING WINDING STAIR GAP

At Winding Stair Gap Overlook - from Hayesvile, NC to Franklin, NC

Mystery Woman, seen at the edge of the forest. And when we looked again, she was gone.

(Okay. I will tell what I know. This woman is the daughter of old-time music fame Leon J. Cofer, who recorded with his brother Paul Cofer and The Georgia Crackers. People are still writing about her father today and The Georgia Crackers music is still being sold on the web.

The woman, I wonder what she is thinking as she looks across the Blue Ridge at the bright colored leaves. Her father, Loen J. Cofer was blind. He never saw her beautiful face.)

Tim, on top of the world at overlook above Shooting Creek Valley.

Approaching Hayesville, NC with mountains of home in the distance.

At Fires Creek in the Nantahala National Forest.

LEATHERWOOD FALLS located at Fires Creek in Nantahala National Forest

More Info on Leatherwood Falls:

Located within Nantahala National Forest, the 25' high Leatherwood Falls is also known as Fire's Creek Falls is somewhat visible from the Fire's Creek Picnic Area. a closer view may be obtained by crossing the creek. The creek is normally not very deep, but almost always cold and the rocks can be tricky. Travel to the top of the falls is possible via Leatherwood Loop Trail.

Picnic area at Fires Creek in the Nantahala National Forest

Leaf Color at Peak in Western North Carolina Mountains

Lines from poem" Living on the Mountain"

by Nancy Simpson

...Whether they bow or stand tall,

they do so with a dignity

that can't be bought.

These woods belong to me,

every maple and oak

How may women do you know

who own a forest?

From my deck, I smell trees

and I am filled with wealth. ...

Do You Want to Order Glenda Beall's New Book? I have ordered my copy, and I expect it my mailbox any day now.

Finishing Line Press is now taking orders for Glenda Council Beall's poetry chapbook,

NOW MIGHT AS WELL BE THEN dedicated to her husband of 45 years,Barry.

Go online to www.finishinglinepress.com

Order your pre-sale book for only $1 shipping cost.

You can also order the book directly from the author Glenda Council Beall:

Contact her at writerlady21@yahoo.com

N.C. Poet Laureate Kathryn Stripling Byer says of this book:

"Like William Wordsworth, Glenda Beall was raised knowing well the "yoke of earth,"how the fields, pastures and woodlands yield both beauty and terror. Her evocationsof being a daughter in the deep South, growing up on a farm, riding her mare, witnessing death and tragedy, as well as joy and fruitfulness, ring absolutely true. She gives us love poems from a mature woman's perspective,too, and poems that celebrate the vistas and culture of the mountains where she now lives. Every poem pulses with detail that brings life back to us in all its varied detail and music. The "yoke of earth" is also the poet's yoke, and she bears it gladly."

Nancy Simpson, poet, editor, teacher says:

In this poetry collection, “Now Might as Well Be Then,” contentment finds Glenda Beall moving from present to past, from past to present, easily as stepping room to room in a house. With brilliance she uses simultaneity to blend memory with the strong desire for life now.

TWO POEMS BY GLENDA COUNCIL BEALL on this her Birthday

Violent Scene from Yellowstone’s Valiant Wild

A young male strode down the mountainside,

crossed the road, strutted into shallow waters

of the Gallatin river. He stalked the old bull elk

on the other side.

Grazing alone in burned out woods, the herd master

ignored the gauntlet for a while, then like a rattler

striking, charged from the bank. The clash of antlers

cracked like breaking pines in an ice storm, rolling sound

upstream and down. Silently I cheered the scarred-back leader.

On land once more, the battle halted

while both tried to maneuver bony-branched horns

between the lodge poles. A minute’s rest

then back into the current.

Strong hind quarters, taunt neck muscles, bunched

like iron cables, pushed, retreated, up and down

the icy stream. The match wore on for more

than twenty minutes.

Heads low, antlers commingled like old bones

collected in a basket, until the young stud forced

his aging foe beneath the water’s surface, held him there.

The veteran of a life of valiant clashes

broke free at last, crashed and splashed

downstream bleating like a lamb who's lost his mother.

Posing for cameras on the roadside,

the victor, centered in the roaring river,

raised his head and shook his massive rack,

bugled his triumphant call to his new harem.

Mountain Seagull

Mountains stretch like layers,

Payne's Grey parchment,

growing fainter

as they reach toward

pale cerulean sky.

The Bald pokes its head

up through a cottony mist.

Lake Chatuge wraps the mountains,

lapping love, cool in coves

tucked tightly between peaks.

Sailboats, triangles, red and yellow

wrapping paper, swiftly blow

before the wind that rustles

maples, locust trees

where songbirds rest.

My spirit soars above the scene

a seagull far from home,

But yearning to embrace

and build a nest.

Two Poems by Glenda Council Beall

Weather Forecast Tonight Above the Frost Line

According to the weather forcast for tonight, they are saying thirty degrees. What about the flowers? Okay. If it is a frost, they're safe.

If it is a hard freeze, it's over.

Bright Colored Leaves and Flowers in Full Bloom Here Above the Frost Line

It is that oxymoron moment in time when bright colored leaves and flowers with full blossoms share the grounds of Cherry Mountain. Frost threatens and some flowers in the valley have bent low. But not here above the frost line. We do get an extension. Yes, I know, the hard freeze shall come, but until every every leaf has fallen and until every flower melts, it's that oxymoron time of year that defines the spirit in which we live here above the frost line.

Glenda Council Beall is Poet of the Month for October 2009

In this her birth month, Living Above the Frost Line celebrates Glenda Council Beall as Poet of the Month of October.

Raised on a farm in southwest Georgia in the late forties and fifties with four brothers and two sisters, Glenda finds memories from childhood come to surface in her writing. She also writes about her husband, Barry, and their forty-five years together.

Glenda graduated from the University of Georgia with a teaching degree. She taught in both private and public school elementary grades. Now retired, she enjoys teaching senior adults who are eager to write their memoirs, family stories, and personal experiences. Glenda says she has taken numerous classes from the excellent instructors at John C. Campbell Fplk School , attended workshops and conferences and has learned the ends and outs of writing and publishing. She will offer two classes at J.C.C.F.S. in 2010.

Her poems have been published in Journal of Kentuky Studies,Georgia Journal, Appalachian Heritage, Main Street Rag and a number of other literary magazines.

Her chapbook, NOW MIGHT AS WELL BE THEN is scheduled for release in October 2009 at Finishing Line Press.

Three Poems by Glenda Council Beall

In The Dark

I lie here in bed, my cheek against your shoulder,

remembering a night, long ago, on your boat.

I was afraid. I felt too much, too fast.

But you were tender, and love crept over us

like silver fog, silent on the lake.

We were never again the same.

We stepped like children through that door that led

to long passages unknown, holding hands, wide-eyed, but brave.

Here I am years later, listening to your soft breath

and feeling your warm smooth skin.

In the dark, now might as well be then.

You Never Meet a Stranger

---for Barry

I watch you and I'm jealous. You talk

to people on the elevator, at the airport

standing in line, at the grocery store

in front of the cucumbers.

You are never lost for words, while I

stand stiff, my eyes averted from

the woman's waiting at the post office

window. I can't think of anything to say.

I fear the person will resent intrusion.

But you — you smile and

burst right in. The stranger's eyes

light up and suddenly she has

become your friend.

The Drive Home

I sit in the driver's seat

watching the ribbon of highway

unfold around each curve.

In the distance grey mountains

loom in misty mounds.

I fiddle with the radio.

Stop when I hear Mozart.

The steering wheel is hard

against my ungloved hands.

No more latex and plastic.

No mask to hide the musty

smell of my old car.

I shed all that inside

your hospital room, and left

without saying goodby,

afraid you'd see finality

in my eyes.